Clarity Day 2011

I've been blogging a lot less lately.

Maybe it's because I've been in this funk the last month or so.
It always comes this time of year for me. It's the time of year where it feels like winter has run its course, but is still very much here.
The pull of tights-less runs, warm sun, and longer days is very real.
So real, in fact, that waking up to snow falling from the sky and 15 degree nights bring about despair.

The good news is knowing the time change is coming, and that a month from now, warmer temperatures will be a reality.

Winter can be tough on my training regimen, but there is always a day that I can pinpoint every March that my training took a turn for the serious.
It usually is brought about by a workout where I know I've turned a corner on a physical and mental level simultaneously.

That day was yesterday.

Thankfully, because even though in the back of my head I know that day will come, I spend most of every february wondering when. Until that day comes, I am in a complete mental fog.

Soon, the crazy stuff will be the regular, and my mind will be crystal clear.
Training heavily gives me plenty of time to sort out the whats, whys, and hows of my life.
Bring on summer.

krp

bring it

i crouch at a squat

laughing
negatives on my back
pour it on
so i can use it

whatever is not said
i put words in their mouth
assuming
creating my own fuel

photosynthesize my own enemies
and harvest my own power

a famine never exists
even though i am
always hungry

bring it.

Prodigal Athlete

This morning at 6am, I couldn't help but notice that daylight in all of its glory is on the way back to us.

It's triggering a lot of feelings, strangely.
Sunlight. Summer. Long days and warmer nights.
Big training volume, and perhaps the most peculiar, the two big fall races.

I have spent only 14 days in Monterrey, and less than a week total in Lake Anna, Virginia... yet, they have a very strong home-like pull to me.
Why?

Is it because of the 'round-the-clock racing, and the fact that, by the end of the event, you know every crack and bump in the road?
Is it because, by the end of the weekend, those strangers in the tent next to you are now your friends, who you look forward to seeing the next year, as soon as you leave the course?
Or is it the immense high of a hard-fought finish? On paper, it's the individual highlighted as the finisher, but really, your friends have stayed up all night, stressing about whether to put one scoop of powder or two into your bottle, and at what hour you should sleep. Indeed, their struggle may be more than yours.

I cannot deny that I look forward to these races in a way that is much more than an athlete testing his fitness. They are spiritual journeys to the center of your being. Finding out what you are made of is never an ego building event. In a world where everything comes easily , it is refreshing to have to fight.

Alas, there are over 8 months until the Triple Iron, and 9 until the Deca Iron.
There will be many fights over the course of those months. There will be injuries. There will be long nights spent without sleep. There will be financial struggles.
The path to the Deca will be long and hard...such is life.

I will battle, with help from my army, The Party Brigade.
And when we get to Lake Anna and Monterrey, the event will be a glorious conclusion of what was 2011.
Maybe that's why these events feel like coming home.

krp

I'm Alive

About this time last year, I had already done a 50 miler on a treadmill, overnight.

I figured it was about time to step the game up, so I ventured out on my big gear single-speed road bike for a long ride to NH from Turner.

Froze my butt off, and my toes, too.

I was a little apprehensive about riding that bike for that distance-previous long ride on that bike was MAYBE 30 miles- but sometimes I get these very strong ideas in my head and can't shake them. I really love the idea of a single speed. Simplicity. Lightweight. And it makes you strong. When you are going uphill, there's no option but torque.

The reason for wanting to push so many watts for so long is that the Deca format this year is going to be less about long, easy saddle time and more about getting a fast time for each 112 mile bike ride...for 10 days straight. The faster I finish an Iron distance race each day, the more sleep and rest I can get to prepare for the next day.

There will also be lots of 5ks, 10ks, and marathons this year. More hard running, less zone-out 6+ hour runs this year.

Meanwhile, I've been trying to figure a way financially to Steve's new race, the Double Iron in Florida this year, in March. Yesterday's ride definitely tells me I can be ready in the next month. I would guess I need to raise about a grand. Thanks to a couple friends and family, I have a few contacts that I'll be pursuing. The goal is to create a relationship with the sponsors. I want to give them tons of publicity for however they choose to help.

The Double Iron would put me on track for the rest of the year. The fitness and mental strength gained from a race that hard, this early in the year would be HUGE in the prep for November.

Well, I guess I better get to work. Happy trails!

kp

Fight

Pain

The menace lurks
I go against the grain
Responsibility unshirked

Sacrifice: not in vain

Pain

Initially acute
And soon all-consuming
life around me mutes
The monster staying, looming

Pain

The black spot unshining
Amoeba of reaching fingers
devouring... dining

unwelcome guest lingers

Pain

Rigormortis,I'm stiff
Eyes red, I grimace
One year of "what if"
It's time to finish

10x

The Adventure That Was 2010

I only need one sentence for an introduction into the recap of the adventure that was this year:

2010 was a direct result of the fire in my blood created by my DNF at the Lake Anna Triple Iron.
The older I get, the more I realize how true the old saying "everything happens for a reason" is. I used to hate that saying, but that DNF was the best thing to happen to me.

I spent only a couple weeks with my tail between my legs after the Virginia 3x.
After I was healed, I went right to work at Northern PT.
Troy put together a collection of exercises that would prevent the injury from happening again.

Mortland and I kicked off the New Year with an Overnight Treadmill 50 Mile Run in mid-january. It was mind-numbing. I said I would never do it again, but I cannot guarantee that anymore. It was a good mental toughness exercise.

A couple of months later in March, I agreed to do a winter Death Race. I made it through the first night in some tough cold, lugging logs up a mountain with no snowshoes among other things, and after realizing that it wasn't actually a run, but a task-oriented race, I dropped. I simply wasn't prepared for that type of race.
Funny, I told the TV cameras I wouldn't do it again, but that was technically a DNF...and that makes me want to go back.

In May, I attempted a 100 mile run at the same venue in Vermont, and experienced one of the strangest weather events of my entire life. The race started in the morning, in cold and pouring rain. As the day went on, the course turned into shin-deep mud all the way around. For some reason, I had no energy, and dropped around 35 miles in, opting to drink beer with Sperv and Anneliese. We sat on top of the mountain, helping other racers. The afternoon saw thunderstorms, then freezing temperatures, then hail, and snow with driving winds.

Only a couple weeks later, as part of the Northern PT team, I used the Aroostook Relay For Life as a training event...running 50 miles through the night on a quarter mile track. This was one of my favorite events, because I got to blend my favorite activity with my favorite people. To run all night, with some company with friends here and there throughout the night, was just awesome.

10 days later, I attempted to run a 200 mile relay solo. All of the previous racing turned out to be too much, and I only made it 55 miles before having some pretty big IT band problems, dropping. Nevertheless had a super weekend with Nicole and my mom, bar hopping in Killington.

By this time, I had transitioned to living in a tent, because I knew money would be tight for my races later in the year.
I spent the summer living everywhere.
Anywhere I felt like staying. I also became very close with people who opened their homes to me on numerous occasions.

The next event was 24 Hours Of Great Glen in August. I went there with great confidence, having done a lot of ultra cycling, and was humbled. Only 13 hours into the event I was TOASTED. Mountain biking is a lot different than road cycling, that's for sure! Nevertheless, I REALLY enjoyed that event, despite my lackluster performance. Didn't matter, really. I don't care about results...just finishing the goal events.

September was the Double Iron. Battled some heat and a crappy attitude to finish injury-free, which was the ultimate goal. The perfect primer for the BIG event.

I used the next 2 months to wrap my head around a Quintuple Iron, and make the necessary training adjustments.
Turns out, the mental preparation worked, because it hurt a lot less than I thought it would. There was never any doubt during the 5x that I wouldn't be back for the Deca in 2011.

The amount I learned about training and racing this year is just out of this world, and I cannot wait to apply it to next year, when I will actually try to RACE the events, not simply finish.
I still continue to battle the balance of life. While it would be nice to train full time and not work, that is just not a feasible option. The bills must get paid, and ultra events don't exactly get you rich.

2010 was easily one of the best years of my life.
Following three tough years, I guess it was time for it.
Thank you all so much for your support, and thanks for reading!

krp

Coming of Age in Monterrey: The Quintuple Report

It's 7:30 on a warm evening in Mexico.

My eyes and face burn from extended chlorine exposure.
It's a challenge to hold my tired body up on my bike, while I attempt to follow the police car through Monterrey- my escort from pool to race course.

I've just swum 12 miles and am now preparing my mind to race for the next 5 days.

I pass an armed guard every hundred feet during the mile from the pool to the Olympic Training Center, and each one mumbles something into his two-way radio, probably saying "He's here", or "He's on his way to you".

The police escort signals for me to go left, I enter through a gate, coast 150 yards, and the sudden realization that it's going to be a long week sets in.
I won't be leaving this course for a while.

Before I start the 560 mile bike ride, I grab my MP3 player, a few drinks that I pre-made before the race, and snag some beans and rice from the kitchen located directly off the course.

I pedal around the course for a few hours, trying to mentally relax my arms and shoulders, which are totally spent from the swim.
Not being able to use MP3 players in the USA, the new feeling of being in an event with my own music in my ears is a HUGE boost.
I'm rapping and swearing out loud and loving every minute of it. Probably the other guys are thinking,"Who is this crazy American?!"

Around midnight, I'm pretty tired and itchy still from the chlorine, so I choose to run up to my dorm room- only a hundred yards from the course- for a nice shower and nap.

Set my alarm for 3am. 2.5 hours sleep, right? Wrong.
I sleep through the alarm and bolt upright at 6am.
Make that 5.5 hours of sleep.

I think, Shit. Nothing to worry about really. It's so early in the event that probably the extra sleep will help me long-term.

DAY 2
I grab some breakfast from the kitchen and jump on my bike, knowing today is going to be one loooooooooooooong day.
It's surprisingly cold compared to what I expected. Maybe high 40s or low 50s.
As the sun comes up, the course(which is not closed to the public) starts filling up with runners, bikers, and rollerbladers.
And ducks... which have an uncanny habit of ambling across the course every morning around 8. They have ZERO fear of anyone, and there are near-collisions every lap and every day until 9 or 10am.
Jorge, the Race Director, had mentioned them at the Opening Ceremonies: "I can't control them. It is nature. If you hit them, we will cook them!"
Excellent.

Every hour and a half to two hours, I have to stop, make my own drinks, and get my own food.
By tonight(night two), I find this to be extremely time intensive and very counter-productive.

In regards to being crewless, normally I would be just getting into a rhythm and feeling great, when I would have to stop.
Getting back into the same mindstate is never easy.
A few other teams(Team Kurtz and Griesen) helped me out here and there, but I could definitely see the benefit of having a crew.

I ride some more, and again retire to the dorm room; this time around 4am.
Shower.
Sleep for an hour and half, and I'm back at it.

DAY 3
Another long day on the bike ahead.
My morale isn't that good. I know that I have to go through at least one more night of cycling.

Most times, I consider myself a night owl...but knowing that I am about to spend the next 22 hours on my bike saddle, with my ass already sore, isn't the best mood-lifter.

Not an easy day. My neck is tired. My hands going numb. My legs feel ok, but overall body and mental fatigue are definitely setting in.

The night is exponentially worse.
I'm frustrated every time I have to dismount for food and drink...for a number of reasons.
1) Everytime I get off the bike, I'm not going forward.
2) My rhythm and mental state gets broken.
3) Removing my aching ass from the saddle hurts, but putting it BACK ON the saddle is 20 times worse.

Wayne Kurtz, racing the Deca, rolls up to me around 11pm and we talk for a while. It's great to finally meet him and chat. We discover that we have a lot in common.
By 2am, I'm smoked, so I opt to hit the room for a shower and nap.

Day 4
An hour and a half of sleep, and all of a sudden, I'm happy again...mostly because I know that this is the morning I finish the bike.

By 4am I'm back on the course, with a bowl of last night's beans and potatoes stuck between my aerobars. By this point, I've mastered the art of eating full meals while pedaling away.
I've got Deca guys asking me every couple laps,"How long 'til you're done the bike?" They all look at me funny when I tell them I have no idea.
The whole week, I've made it a point to NOT know where I'm at mileage-wise. Mostly because in my head, I don't want to know until I'm close to done.
It's a good thing.
Less mind games with myself, calculating and extrapolating lap times.

Around 11am, I know I've got to be close.
The timing dudes confirm this, and I just start going nuts. I'm so excited to be getting off the bike that I start ripping off 3:30 laps. I get so caught up in the moment that I actually finish the bike and start doing another lap without realizing it. After a half lap, they cut across the course and tell me I'm all done.

Cool.
I take my time, eat a good meal, and change into my running gear.
My mood is super high, but tempered by the fact that now I have to run twice as far as I ever have before.

When I think of the bike, I think of miserable nights. Remembering the run, it was afternoons that hurt the most because of the extreme heat.

This first afternoon sets the tone for the rest of them. It is HOT.

I run for about 4 hours before sitting under the tent for a few minutes with a number of drinks and food... just trying to get cool and counting the seconds until sundown.

Completely SICK of beans, rice, and insect-covered food, I order a big salty pizza from Domino's and run until it arrives.
Once there, I fill a bottle with Powerade, grab the entire box of pepperoni and ham Americana, and have the happiest lap of the entire race.
To say it tastes amazing would be the biggest understatement in the history of the world. The Danish Team gets a kick out of the whole scene, and somehow a picture of me with the pizza that they take ends up in a Danish newspaper.

For the first night of running, I just focus on being happy. I do a bunch of laps with Nick Mallett from Australia, which is great because he is coming off the bike and because of that, in a really good mood.
Sometimes I'm annoyed by other people in good spirits, but tonight it's contagious.

At 4am, I hit the tent for a quick nap.

Day 5
Another 1.5 hours of sleep, and this time, I really am not enthused about starting my day. I get some crappy coffee from the kitchen and sit down to a breakfast of about 4 million pancakes.
My policy when I'm not happy is "Eat everything until morale improves."

It kind of works this time.
I don't remember a lot about Day 5... only that it was long and hot and my feet were beginning to swell.
Every couple of laps I would lay down for 5 minutes with my feet up. It seemed to do the trick in the short term.

By nightfall, I just want to be done. I make a mental commitment to myself to not sleep, because sleeping means not moving forward...and what the heck, I can't feel much worse anyways.

At 4am, my feet are aching terribly. It's not a muscular thing.
I can feel it in my bones. I take off my shoes and my feet seem to just balloon out. All I can envision is a million little stress fractures.
No way I'm going anywhere for a while.

Knowing I only have another marathon left, I sleep for a good 3 hours.
Despite my feet aching, I'm kind of happy.
I figure I could be done by noon or 1pm.
A 5 hour marathon should be easy, right??
Wrong.

That last marathon was the physical equivalent of nails down a chalkboard.
Every step hurt worse than the next.

As noon rolls around, I realize that a finish is still hours away. My mind and body are so tired. It is impossible to focus on the fact that I am DEFINITELY going to finish; I can only focus on the fact that I'm not finishing NOW.

I spend a good two hours being a miserable prick. I am angry at not being done, and being kind of irrational, that is, until out of nowhere, I realize that I am within 10 miles of the finish line.
All of a sudden, my legs and feet and shitty attitude don't matter anymore.
I put the hammer down and don't stop for drink or food or bathroom breaks.

On my second to last lap, I see Wayne on his bike, and ask if I can use his American flag to take on my last lap around. Obviously he says yes.
His crewman Rick hands it to me and I start crying immediately, because I know within the next fifteen minutes, this whole journey is going to be over.

The last lap is still surreal, 2 and a half weeks later.

All of the bikers in the Deca and Double Deca are whistling and congratulating me and just making a huge raucous.
Everything that happened within the last year ebb and flow through my mind.
The sacrifices financially and socially.
The tent living.
The couch crashing.
Everyone and everything that had gotten me to this point.

Wayne stops mid lap to give me a hug. A couple minutes later, Eileen does too.
The last half mile, I run some, walk a little, laugh, cry, and take it all in.
It's a celebration of the event...the whole year, actually, and crossing the finish line is a culmination of it all.

While I have larger plans for 2011, I know that this finish will always be one of the most special because during the year leading up to the event, I learned who my real friends were, and how much a community of friends and family can help one person achieve their goals.

I will always remember what people did for me to get to Monterrey. What a year.

krp